


Downfall

by treenahasthaal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Consensual Sex, F/M, Gen, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treenahasthaal/pseuds/treenahasthaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone, and on the run for days, Luke Skywalker is begining to despair. He desperately needs to escape the chasing storm troopers commanded by Darth Vader - the man who only a few short weeks ago on Bespin claimed to be his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Downfall

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This story was written for a "Luke in Handcuffs" challenge - not that I need an excuse to put Luke in binders! 
> 
> Many, many thanks to Kataja for beta reading and for helping me get to grips with Mara.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am only playing in George Lucas's sandbox. I make no profit, but I do have a lot of fun!

** Downfall **

**  
**

Lone footsteps slapped on wet paving stones, splashing through puddles kept full by the deluge of rain that had swept over the city for the last two days. The figure dashed into an alleyway, zigzagged through a series of tight turns and came to a stop deep in the shadows created by the tall buildings to each side and by the dark rain clouds that hung over the area.

He pressed himself against the ancient brickwork, listening for his pursuers desperately trying to slow his breathing, his panting, lest they hear him.

Two days now, he had been running. Two days of constant pursuit, of running and hiding in corners and shadows. He was exhausted, soaked to the skin, hungry and tired of drinking rain water. Thanks only to his wits, adrenalin and the Force he was still alive and free, but he was beginning to tire - his limbs ached, his stomach cramped and when night fell it became so cold that the rain became like ice shards and he feared he would freeze to death.

He closed his eyes, reached out with the Force and was immediately assaulted by the fear that gripped this city as the Imperial troops ransacked it, as they tore through streets after their quarry indiscriminately arresting its citizens on suspicion of harbouring a traitor, razed homes and businesses once they had been searched so there were fewer places for him to hide.

There had been deaths.

So much fear, so much horror and death in one place because Luke Skywalker’s mission here had been discovered by the local Imperial Garrison and Darth Vader and his fleet had descended.

_“I am you father!”_

He flexed his right hand in response to the memory of Vader’s announcement, of Vader’s hand being extended to him; an open invite to take it.

_“Come with me, it is the only way.”_

He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face to the sky and allowed the rainfall to run over his skin to drip from his chin to his sodden clothes.

If he had gone with Vader he wouldn’t be here now. If he had gone with Vader this city would not be suffering, if he had gone with Vader...

He opened his eyes, blinked away water.

If he was to go with Vader now, if he was to step from the shadows of the alley way and surrender this would all stop and no-one else would die because of him.

But the information he carried was too important, was vital to the future of the Alliance and he was the only one who knew it. If he died now, then so would the Rebellion and all who fought for the restoration of the Republic.

He pulled his blaster from its holster, checked the power levels and grimaced. It was running low, had been well used during his flight through the city and now had barely enough power for one or two more shots.

If only he had his lightsaber.

_“I am your father.”_

It couldn’t be true, it had to be a lie, an attempt by Vader to coerce him to the Dark Side. Give the orphan something he always wanted, what he had dreamed of all his life and watch him fall.

He hitched his breath, held it, as boot steps scraped on wet flagstones and a stormtrooper stepped around the corner.

Luke pressed himself against the bricks, willing the soldier to turn the other way. He swallowed, gripped his pistol, licked his lips as the soldier stopped only a few scant metres away.

And turned to stare right at him.

The trooper started at the sight of his quarry so close, his rifle immediately rising. Luke was quicker and pulled off a shot, the blast to the chest throwing the trooper violently against the opposite wall. The man dropped to the ground as the sound of the shot resonated loudly in the enclosed alley.

Luke turned, fled once more with shouts of; “Here! He’s here!” echoing behind him as more soldiers barrelled around the corner.

He pulled off another shot, dropped another soldier and dashed around a bend to find more Imperial troopers heading his way.

One last blast and his gun failed him. He threw the weapon away and ran in the opposite direction, sprinting blindly down side streets, around corners and through shadow allowing the Force to guide him, trusting the Force to shake off his pursuers once more.

He turned another corner and was faced by a dead end with a single door set into the wall; securely locked and bolted. He gathered his strength, cried out as he threw out his arms and Force pushed it open, the door flew inward snapping the locking mechanism. He dashed through and started up the stairs as the chasing soldiers entered a little more cautiously.

He ran, taking two and three steps at a time as he climbed several stories and shouldered open another door at the top to find himself outside on a flat roof. He ran to the edge, looked across to the neighbouring building as an explosion rocked the area and screams and flames rose from nearby.

It was with horror that he realised the Imperials were destroying the streets and buildings he had just ran through.

“Stand where you are!”

He turned at the shout, saw the soldiers spilling through the door onto the roof.

Panting with exertion, with muted panic, he stepped away from the edge, raised his hands as though surrendering and the soldiers slowed their pace believing they had him.

He moved, turned and darted away from them and leapt from the roof to land and roll on the opposite building. He climbed to his feet, dodged blaster bursts that came his way and ran and jumped to the next roof.

ooOOoo

Luke collapsed to his knees, his back to the door that had just shut behind him.  He was still for a moment and rain water from his drenched clothing pooled on the duracrete floor beneath him. He heaved in a breath of dry air and lifted his head to survey the room. It was utterly empty, like the rest of this building, devoid of life bar scuttling rodents and insects.

It had taken a while for him to shake off his pursuers. He had thought all was lost when seekers droids and shuttles had joined the chase but, as night had fallen, his luck had turned and in the early hours of the morning he had gradually lost those chasing him and he had found this building. It was old and abandoned, condemned, and it would give him a few hours respite and rest before he would be forced out into the rain again.

He had checked exits, planned his escape route and then fallen to the floor of this room.

He rose with a groan, squelched to the far corner and slid down the wall to sit across from the door with a dirt streaked window above his head. He shivered with cold, wondered if he should remove some of his clothes but decided against it. He leaned back, brought his knees up and hugged them close in an effort to retain some heat in his exhausted body, and rested his head against the wall. He closed his eyes as he listened to the rain drumming against the window pane.

He didn’t know what to do next, didn’t know where to turn, or how to get himself, and the citizens of this city, out of this situation.

The spaceport was closed down, cordoned off by rows of Imperial weaponry. The city was the same; it boundaries protected by lines of troopers and war machines, all travel beyond its limits cut off.

Areas where he had been spotted, or even rumoured to have been seen, had been destroyed and its people relocated or killed.

They were closing in on him, taking away any escape route and destroying hiding places.

It was only a matter of time.

He groaned, shook his head; water from his hair dripping to his shoulders.

He should give up, he should stop this, stop the destruction and the killing and willingly surrender to them.

But the information he had....

What were a few hundred deaths here if millions could be saved elsewhere with what he had found out about the Empire’s plans?

_Too much, too many..._

He closed his eyes against the grief, the guilt, as despair descended.

_“I am your father.”_

He could feel Vader’s presence on the planet. Could feel the darkness of the Sith Lord weighing him down, could feel the net tightening around him; the shadows deepening. They beckoned to him, whispered to him, teasing him with thoughts of family and belonging.

_“Come with me, it is the only way.”_

Luke squeezed his eyes shut, forced the images of his failure on Bespin from his mind; the hand stretched out to him, the entreaty from Vader that had haunted his nightmares in the weeks since still enough to make him falter and doubt.

_“Much anger in him, like his father.”_

Did Yoda know?

Had the Jedi hid the truth from him?

Was Vader really his father?

_“Powerful Jedi was he. Powerful Jedi.”_

Again he shook his head. No, his father had been a Jedi, not a Sith Lord. His father had been a good man. A man who had fought in the Clone Wars for peace and justice. A man who had been betrayed and murdered by Darth Vader.

Hadn’t he?

He drew in a breath, trying to shake off the disturbing thoughts, trying to dislodge them, dismiss them, toss them away. He needed to get out of this situation, he needed to get away, to get back to the Alliance, to tell them what he had learned here.

Then he needed to find Han and free him.

He needed to return to Yoda to finish his training and to ask a few questions of the aged Jedi Knight.

He kept his eyes closed, forcing him himself to relax, pushing away the memories, clearing his mind. He gathered the Force to him, felt it wrap around him, flood him with power and potential. He would meditate, he would seek answers as Yoda had taught him; through the Force he would see things, through the Force he would find the path he should follow.

Lulled by the beating of the rain on the window, exhausted by his flight of the last two days, Luke fell asleep, his body sliding down the wall to curl upon the floor.

_...red and blue lights flashed in darkness..._

_...a shriek..._

_...boot steps drumming on stone paving..._

_... a black gloved hand reaching for him..._

_... a scream..._

_... a plea..._

_...”No, please!”..._

He jerked awake, groaned as stiff muscles protested the sudden movement and he turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling of the unfamiliar room initially wondering where he was.

Then he remembered.

Being discovered here by the Empire, his flight through the city, and finding his current refuge.

“Please, no!”

He started as the cries from his dream echoed from outside and he quickly pushed himself to his feet flinching as his leg muscles painfully cramped. He limped to the window and looked, his mouth drying in fear, his heart rate increasing as once more he saw the white armour of his pursuers standing in the rain below him.

“No... I beg you...”

A woman’s voice and Luke realised that the troopers had someone encircled among them. He swallowed, uncertain of what to do. There were three of them, one of him and...

An armoured hand lashed out and struck the woman across the face.

Angered, Luke unlatched the window and silently pushed it open. Too many had died for him and he wasn’t going to stand by while another suffered because of him.

He climbed onto the window sill as the hand was raised again.

He jumped, dropped, and caught the assailant in the back, bringing him down. He rolled in the puddles, quickly recovered and turned using a Force push to throw the other two soldiers away. They crashed to ground several metres away.

He hastily snatched up the trooper’s fallen rifle and grabbed the woman’s hand and ran, pulling her with him.

They moved swiftly, silently, through the deserted streets, hiding in corners and shadows as patrols passed by.

Finally, as he went round yet another corner, she stopped, dragged her feet on the ground and refused to allow him to guide her any more. He turned surprised at the physical strength the petite woman possessed, or perhaps more surprised at how weaken and debilitated he was.

“No,” she told him, firmly.

“What?” He nervously glanced around making sure they were alone and unseen. “We should keep moving and...”

“No,” she said again, pushing her sodden brown hair away from her face, grey eyes searching his blue. “I live here.”

“If they’ve seen us this way they’ll bring it down,” he told her. “We need to move.”

“No!” She raised her chin defiantly. “I am not the fugitive, this is my home!”

Luke swallowed his exasperation, his growing consternation. “You’ve been seen with me,” He persisted, still looking around, reaching out with the force to sense any pursuit. “You’re in danger if you go back that way.”

She smiled at this. “I believe I will be in more danger if I stay with you.” She sighed, studied him, noting the dark circles around his eyes, the soaking clothes, the agitation that gripped him. Her features softened. “How many days since you’ve eaten?”

Luke was in a hurry to move, to get away, but he answered. “Two, maybe three. Look, we really need to...”

“Since you wore dry clothes and slept in a bed?”

“The same,” Luke told her hurriedly, adrenalin twisting his belly with anxiousness.

“Come with me.”

He started at the familiar words, his mind echoing them with a very different voice. “What?”

“I live nearby, you’ll be safe,” she shrugged, wiped rain from her face, “for a while anyway. It is warm and dry, you can eat, rest.”

He hesitated, licked his lips at the appealing offer.

She smiled, seeing his indecision. “There is a bed.”

He could feel the truth of her words, could sense that she meant what she said. After running for so long it was tempting to trust her. The thought of being warm and dry, of having food in his belly was irresistible. “I...”

She slipped her hand in his. “You helped me, saved me. Let me help you.”

She gently pulled him and he followed placing one foot in front of another allowing her to lead him through the afternoon deluge until she unlocked a door and drew him into a building after her. She turned, locked the door and gestured for him to follow her through a second door.

Luke stepped out of the hallway into a small apartment as again she locked the door after them. She turned, smiled shyly. “My home,” she told him.

It was a one room affair; a small open living space with a kitchenette. There was a sofa that he suspected could be unfolded into a bed, a drawer unit, a small table and two chairs and a cheap holonet player fixed to the wall. One other door led from the room to what Luke suspected would be a compact fresher.

She saw the direction of his gaze and opened the top drawer of the unit pulling out a soft towel. She held it out to him and smiled. “You can use it,” she offered, gesturing to the closed door. “There should still be plenty of hot water.”

Again there was brief hesitation before Luke took the towel from her and gave her a little smile. “Thanks.”

Still carrying his stolen blaster rifle, he stepped into the tiny, closet sized area and smiled. It was a wet room, the walls, floor and ceiling were all tiled. There was a mirror with a shelf beneath it holding various bottles and tubes of women’s toiletries, a refresher bowl, a towel rail and an extractor fan set into the ceiling that immediately turned on when he turned the shower faucet and warm water began to flow.

He hung the towel on the rail, placed the gun beneath it, and stripped from his clothes. They were heavy and damp, stinking of sweat and filthy with grime and dirt. He stepped under the warm water as steam began to gather in the enclosed area. He washed quickly using a bottle of soap that had been sitting on a shelf beneath the faucet, lathering it in his hair hoping that the light fragrance wouldn’t make him smell too effeminate.

He rinsed and turned the water off and reached for the towel. He dried his hair and body and then wrapped the cloth around his waist. He glanced in the mirror, bared his teeth and snagged a tube of tooth cleanser and squeezed some onto his finger, rubbed it onto his teeth and around his mouth. He ran the water, scooped some in his palm and rinsed his mouth, spitting into the bowl.

Luke faltered, uncertain of what to do now. His clothes were lying in a sodden pile on the floor and he couldn’t put them back on again.

He glanced at the door, a slight blush warming his cheeks as he realised that he would have to go out wearing just the towel.

“Shit,” he breathed, then laughed at himself. The entire Empire was searching for him, tearing this city apart looking for him and he was worried about wearing just a towel in the presence of strange woman.

Luke lifted the rifle, and his clothes and opened the door and was met with the aroma of herbs and spices and cooking meat. His mouth filled with saliva and he swallowed hungrily.

She turned as the door opened fought back a smile as her guest gingerly entered the room with his clothes in his hands. Her eyes flicked over his body, settling on the towel around his lower half.

“I, uh...” Luke started, looking around trying not to see were her gaze finished, but noticing that she had also dried off and had changed out of her own wet clothes into a simple white robe tied at the waist. “I... uh... you don’t have anything else I could wear do you?”

She shook her head, again suppressing a smile at his crest fallen appearance. He knew that looking at him now she could not see the dangerous fugitive that the Empire was looking for, the felon whose picture and crimes were plastered all over the local holonet channels. All she saw was an embarrassed man in a towel.

“I’m sorry,” she explained. “I live alone, but I can wash and have your clothes dried for morning.”

Luke shook his head. “I shouldn’t be here that long, it’s too dangerous.”

The young woman nodded to the holoplayer that was now broadcasting news reports. “They’re searching in another sector. They think you’ve doubled back and are using the ruins to hide in, they think you might try and pass yourself off as a refugee with those displaced by the searches.”

Luke glanced at the screen on the wall and stepped forward when he saw his picture was displayed. He absently placed his clothes into her offered hands as he watched footage of the searches, of the crowds of people made homeless and listened to commentary that was full of condemnation for him and rhetoric for the Empire.

 “Why would they broadcast that?” he asked, turning to her. “Why would they release that information if there’s a chance I’d see it?”

She pushed his clothing into the laundry cleanser set under the kitchen counter and switched it on. “Do you have a portable holoplayer?” she questioned. “Any means of accessing the media?”

Luke shook his head, eyes glued to the screen; he didn’t even have a comlink on him. He winced as a reward for information on his whereabouts, or his live capture, was announced. Someone could live in luxury for the rest of their lives on that amount of money. “No,” he told her, thinking of her circumstances in this tiny one roomed apartment.

She came round beside him and switched off the holoplayer, catching his eye as she told him. “Then that is why they broadcast it,” and added, “If I had wanted the money I would have alerted them when you were in the ‘fresher.”

Again he could feel the truth in her words. He looked shamed faced that she could have understood his thoughts so readily. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

She smiled again, grey eyes dancing with humour. “Are you always so suspicious of others?” She gestured to the small table that was now set for a meal.

“No,” he answered as he sat, pulling the edges of the towel together as the young woman returned to kitchenette and opened the kiln. He placed the blaster rifle on the floor next to his chair leg. “I’m usually accused of trusting too easily.”

She gave him a sudden, sharp look as she lifted their meal out and set it on the counter.

“I didn’t mean that I’m wrong to trust, I mean...” he floundered, looking for the right words, not wanting to upset his host. “I... it’s just got me into trouble more often than I care to admit.”

“Like now?” she wanted to know as she plated their food.

He sighed, shoulders falling with exhaustion. “Yes, my contact here had been discovered and eliminated before I arrived. The man who met me was an undercover operative.”

“You trusted him?”

“Not exactly,” he told her. “But I trusted the information that lead me here.”

“What are you going to do?”

Luke rubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know. I... too many people have died because I’m here. I need to get off world, or... I could surrender myself.” He sounded weary, beaten.

She placed a plate before him and sat opposite with her own meal. “What would they do?” she asked.

He glanced at her, not really wanting to imagine what they would do to him, what Vader would do with him.

_“I am your father!”_

_“If you chose the quick and easy path, as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil.”_

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know... I don’t really want to find out either.”

There must have been something in his voice, something that told her he knew exactly what would happen to him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” She said, looking away. She lifted her cutlery and began eating.

“It’s alright,” he assured her as he glanced down at his own plate. It was some sort of stew full of vegetables and cubes of meat. It looked good, it looked warm and filling.

He lifted his fork and scooped up a mouthful. It was delicious, not over seasoned and lightly spiced.  He shovelled the food into his mouth; used to eating on the run, used to grabbing what he could, when he could.

“I would have made more, if I realised that you were this hungry,” a humour filled voice interrupted.

Luke glanced up mid shovel, again there was a flush to his cheeks. He placed his fork down on the empty plate and chewed his last mouthful. He swallowed, shrugged and smiled. “It’s good,” he explained lamely.

“And you were hungry,” she told him, slowly chewing her own meal.

He nodded aware of his poor manners, aware that his late aunt would have been mortified at his behaviour. He shifted awkwardly on the chair remembering he was wearing only a towel, aware that he had been running and hiding from the Empire for the last three days, aware of what this young woman was risking by giving him shelter.

She placed her utensils down. “It must be hard for you,” she stated, watching him. “All that running and fighting. I can’t imagine how scared you must be.”

He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t scared, that fear meant nothing to him, but he knew he’d be lying.

“I shouldn’t stay,” he said pushing his plate away and standing, lifting the blaster. “I should go, I can’t risk you getting into trouble on my account.”

Her eyes briefly flickered to the gun, but she merely smiled at him, lifted their empty plates and crossed to the kitchenette and placed the crockery and utensils into the sink. “I don’t think you would get very far dress in just a towel,” she observed.

He coloured, looked away.

She came toward him and offered him her hand.  Looking down at her, he took it, realising how petite she was, how slight and young. He frowned, lightly touched the bruise that was appearing on her cheek where the trooper had hit her. “You’re hurt.”

“So are you,” she pointed out, placing her palm against his chest and his bruises and scrapes there, the results of the last few days fighting and running.

He drew in a tight breath at her touch and stepped back.

 “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Luke widened the distance between them, his skin tingling where she had touched him. “No, it’s okay,” he told her, turning away and ensuring the towel was tightly tied at his waist.

“I have some painkillers if you need them,” she offered.

“I’m fine,” Luke told her, fighting his agitation. He stood by the side of the window looking out to the darkening street, keeping watch. “I just... I feel that I need to move, that I should be doing something, that I shouldn’t be here.”

As if on cue the laundry washer gurgled as it drained water away and began the rinse cycle.

“A couple more hours and your clothes will be washed and dried,” she observed, “and you’ll be free to go. I told you, they’re not searching this area. You are safe here for now.”

 Luke frowned at the tiny twist he sensed in the Force, he reached out trying to find the source of the sudden unease but could sense nothing apart from his host’s mild discomfort at his nervousness.  He wished he could believe her statements about being safe, but out there thousands of stormtroopers were searching for him.

Out there the man who claimed to be his father was looking for him.

“I don’t even know your name,” he told her just to fill the awkward moment. He glanced toward her waiting for her answer.

She looked hesitant at first, then she gave a little crooked smile. “I’m Jem. Jem Ra’ada.”

“Luke,” he told her. “I’m Luke Sky...”

She laughed waved at the deactivated holoplayer. “I know who you are. Luke Skywalker, Commander in the Rebel Alliance, wanted for murder and sedition.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, coloured at her words, uncomfortable with how his actions in the war were being described. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear on the holonet.”

“Oh?” she settled on the arm of the sofa near him, teasing him with, “so you didn’t fight against the Empire at the Battle of Yavin?”

“No, I did, it just didn’t happen the way the Empire reported.”

“So how did it happen?” She reached across him and closed the window shutters.

He looked down at her again. He knew they were of a similar age, but he felt ages older, worn down by war and death and by his experiences on Bespin.

Did he really want to share any of those burdens with this woman he had only just met.

“Luke?” She questioned his silence. “How did it happen?”

There was a curious eagerness in her words, a wanting to know, but still he was reluctant to sully her with stories of loss and conflict.

“I shouldn’t tell you,” he explained, speaking softly. “It would be too dangerous. If they find out that I’ve been here and you know these things they’ll...”

Jem leaned forward, took his free hand once more. “If they find out that you have been here I don’t think it will matter if you have told me anything. The result will still be the same.”

Luke brushed his thumb over the back of her hand; again there was a truth in her words. She stood up, took the gun from him and set it under the window and brought him around the front of the sofa and sat him down. She settled beside him, smiling at his nervousness, his continued agitation.

“Are you always so on edge?” she asked mildly.

“Only when half the Empire is after me,” he told her, with a self-conscious smile.

“Are you sure it’s only half the Empire?” she joked, leaning forward and surprising him by brushing her lips over his.

He jerked away, stunned, suddenly aroused. Not wanting to take advantage of this situation, of her. “Jem, I...”

“It’s okay,” she told him, leaning in again. “It’s okay to do this.”

Luke studied her, held back. Would this be the right thing to do? Would it be so wrong to take what was being offered when outside this tiny room people were dying because of him?

“Jem, this...”

She kissed him again, and he hesitantly responded. His hand moved to the back of her head pulling her closer and the kiss deepened, tongues briefly touching as though testing intent.

They broke apart; blue eyes meeting grey as they searched each other, as they looked for permission to continue.

“I won’t hurt you,” she told him.

And before Luke could ponder the strange statement she kissed him again, pulling him closer, wrapping her arms around him as she arched against him with sudden need.

And it didn’t matter anymore. Outside could wait, the war could wait. This was what he needed, this was what he wanted at this moment. To forget, no matter how briefly, just to forget it all and lose himself to the comfort that she was offering.

Luke broke away, cupped her face in his hand and again touched the bruise on her cheek. He brushed it with his lips, trailed them down her neck lightly kissing her skin over her collar bone.  Laying her back on the couch, he drew the opening of her robe to the side and leaned in to kiss her breasts.

She stopped him, placed a hand against his chest. “Wait,” she panted softly.

Luke drew back, blood now thundering in his ears, his heart pounding, his body aching with want. “What?” he gasped, was she backing out now?

She stood and took his hands, pulled him to his feet. With a quick press on a pad on the side of the sofa she caused it to unfolded into a ready-made bed. She smiled at his confusion and pulled back the sheets, piling them at the bottom of the mattress.

“This’ll be more comfortable,” she told him as she untied her robe and shrugged it from her shoulders. The garment pooled at her feet and she stood before him naked.

Luke stepped forward wanting to take her into her arms, wanting to touch her, to run his hands over her breasts, over the flare of her hips, her buttocks. But she moved away, climbed onto the bed and lay back, inviting him to join her.

He pulled the towel from his hips, dropped it to the floor and settled beside her on the bed, taking her into arms and resuming the kiss.

Jem moaned, ran her hand along his arm feeling strong muscle beneath the skin. He shivered at her touch, pulled her tighter to deepen the kiss, pressed his body against her.  He brushed his lips against her bruised cheek and again journeyed down her neck breathing in her scent as his lips found her collar bone once more.

Pulling back, Luke pushed her hair behind her ear and trailed his hand down her neck, down her sternum and between her breasts. He smiled as her nipples hardened in anticipation and dipped his head to suck one into his mouth while covering the other with his hand.

Jem gasped, gripped his head and moaned in delight at the sensations of his tongue and calloused fingers as they teased and taunted her.

He released her breasts, claimed her mouth again enjoying the feel of her hands on his own body as they explored him, as they traced a path down his chest, down his abdomen and curled around his erection, squeezing him gently, moving her hand up and down his length.

He groaned, buried his head in her hair, could smell rainwater and shampoo as he smoothed the palm of his hand down her belly, paused below her navel and smiled into their kiss as she curved her body upward and growled low her throat with frustration at his teasing.

She pulled away, released him, nibbled his ear, whispered. “Please...”                         

His hand brushed against her pubis, against the damped hair between her legs that parted for him.

“Please,” she gasped again.

He slipped his fingers between her lips and lightly stroked the nub of her clitoris. Again she arched, hitched in a tight breath, as he worked his fingers in circles spreading her wetness, causing her to gasp and shudder in pleasure.

Her hand found his, pulled it away, before he brought her to climax. “Not yet,” she gasped. “Not yet.”

Luke grasped her hand, took the other and brought them above her head as he rolled onto her, and kneeled between her open legs. She brought her knees up, trailed a foot up the back of his thighs and buttocks placing pressure on him, pushing him toward her.

He dipped his head to her breasts again, kissing and sucking at each nipple in turn. Releasing her hands, he ran his own down her body and pulled her hips to him. He took himself in his hand, pressed the tip of his manhood against her and pushed in.

She pushed back, angling her hips as he slid his aching length deep inside her.

Luke groaned at the sensations; at the tight, slick heat that enveloped him. Again he paused as her muscles pulled him deeper, as she ran her hands down his chest, over his stomach, his back to then grasp his buttocks.

They caught eyes, they smiled and kissed and Luke began to move, pulling back to thrust back in, building up a rhythm that made them both pant and gasp in pleasure.

Her sudden orgasm caught him by surprise. She called out curled against him as her inner muscles gripped him, pulsing against his hardness.

Luke groaned, stopped moving as she stretched and shuddered beneath him. He waited for her to come down, fighting the urge to thrust into her harder until he found his own satisfaction.

She opened her eyes, gazed up at him as he grinned.

“Your turn,” she whispered, as she squeezed her muscles against him.

“Not yet,” he panted, echoing her words. He sat back almost drawing out of her and found her clitoris again with his fingers.

She cried out, thrust forward and he plunged in once more still rubbing at her hardened nub. Again she came and Luke withdrew his hand to brace himself as he drove faster, sank deeper, as her hands pulled him against her, as her legs caught him and as her hips beat time with his own.

He suddenly stiffened, caught by the powerful contractions of muscles, crying out as he climaxed, spilling his seed deep within her.

Gasping, he fell against her, welcomed her arms around him. They lay silent allowing tired muscles to rest, enjoyed the afterglow of their union. As their breathing slowed they disentangled from each other and lay side by side, heads on pillows gazing at each other.

“Jem, I...”

“Shhhh,” she whispered, placing a finger against his lips. “You should sleep now, rest.”

Behind them in the kitchenette the laundry washer pinged at the end of the cycle.

Luke smiled against her finger. “My clothes are dry,” he mumbled.

“You don’t need your clothes just now,” she told him quietly, brushing his sweat damped hair from his face, and kissing him lightly on the lips. She sat up, reached down and gathered the bed clothes over them.

Luke smiled as the warm quilt covered him, as Jem settled down in his arms once more. He knew this couldn’t last, he knew he had to leave in the morning, he knew he had to continue his flight from the Empire, and he knew that he would probably never see this girl again. But for now he could take her comfort, for now he could rest and gather his strength.

He closed his eyes as her hand traced a soothing pattern on his back. It wasn’t long before his exhaustion got the better of him and he fell into a deep, sated, sleep.

Jem lay with him, watching him sleep and listening to his breathing as it slowed and deepened. Once she was sure he was fast asleep she gently pulled away from him, pausing when he grunted at the movement and turned onto his belly, burrowing his head into the pillow.

She smiled at him and crossed the room to the fresher where she quickly showered, washing Luke from her body. She lathered her hair, using a dye remover to wash the dull brown from her tresses and pubic hair. Stepping out from the water she padded naked toward the mirror over the sink. She wiped away the condensation and stared at her reflection for a moment before removing the grey contact lenses from her eyes.

Again she glanced in the mirror seeing wet red hair and vibrant emerald eyes. She quickly returned to the single room, moving quietly past the bed to the dresser where she grabbed a towel and dried her body and hair as Luke slept on oblivious to her movements. She hastily dressed, pulling on a simple jump suit and strapping a heavy weapons belt around her waist.

She grabbed the final item from the drawer and switched on the small power cell, setting it to automatic. She glanced down at the sleeping man amazed that he had yet to stir, that his Jedi senses had not yet kicked in to the danger that now surrounded him.

Three days on the run with little rest and no food, not to mention the sex, must have really taken their toll on him. She cocked her head; it was a shame really, he had been a good lay – unselfish, thinking of his partner’s needs and not just his own.

She climbed back onto the bed, drew the quilt down his back, grasped his right hand and fitted the first cuff of the stun binders around the wrist. He stirred, mumbled, so she moved quickly, grabbing his other hand and dragging it behind him to snap it into the second cuff.

Luke came awake immediately, calling out with sudden realisation and jerking his wrists against the tight binders. His body tensed, stiffened, as the stun charge ran through his body, stealing the breath from him.

“Jem?” He questioned, his voice filled with pain and confusion, his face still buried in the pillow.

She ignored him and crossed to the door, opening it for the waiting stormtroopers.

Luke’s eyes widened in horror as the soldiers flooded into the room. They hauled him from the bed.

“No!” He cried out, struggling and fighting against his captors. He screamed, was sent to his knees by the increased charge from the stun cuffs.

“Jem?” he asked again, looking up at her, at the changes in her appearance. Gone was the young girl who had helped him, gone was the woman who had willingly given herself to him. Instead he saw the seasoned grace of an Imperial agent.

There was movement at the door and a sound that Luke recognised, a sound that followed him into his nightmares. A sound that filled him with terror and despair and stole the very breath from him.

_“I am your father.”_

Overwhelmed he slumped lower, hung his head, lost and alone, as Darth Vader stepped into the confines of the apartment.

“You took your time, Jade,” The Dark Lord admonished the Emperor’s hand.

She smirked. “I was enjoying myself,” she told him.

“You set me up,” a quiet voice stated from the floor.

They both turned to the naked boy on his knees between the towering stormtroopers.

He lifted his eyes to regard them, to look at her, to see if there was anything within her that resembled Jem. “All of this was a set up.”

“You were causing havoc in the city, boy,” Vader rumbled. “You are too stubborn to realise when you are beaten, too full of your own self importance to consider the damage being done to this place.”

“It wasn’t me who killed those people, it wasn’t me who tore down their homes,” Luke accused, slow anger burning beneath his words, beneath the terror that gripped him. He had been used, played by the man who claimed to be his father and by a woman who had shown him only concern and consideration.

“But it was only you who could stop it,” the Dark Lord told him. “You knew that I would do everything within my power to capture you and still you ran, despite the blood being spilled at your back.”

“It wasn’t spilled by my hands,” Luke refuted, his words barbed with resentment.

“Wasn’t it?” Vader questioned darkly. “That is something that you and I must discuss.”  He gestured to the soldiers before turning away. “Bring him.”

Grasped by his upper arms Luke was hauled to his feet and manhandled toward the door. He dug his heels in, fought against them, pulled at the tight cuffs around his wrists and was again dropped by a powerful charge as it raged through his body.

Vader stopped and turned as Jade caught the arm of one trooper as he bent to strike the fallen Rebel. He watched the exchange with interest.

“No,” she told the soldier as she kneeled on the floor beside Luke. He was winded, gasping for the breath knocked out of him by the strong current. Taking his chin she turned his face to her. She smiled, shook her head. “Stop fighting, Luke. Stop fighting and you will not be harmed.”

Luke glanced behind her at the waiting Sith Lord, clearly not believing her.  He dragged his eyes back to hers searching them, confusion clear in the hazy blue that stared at her.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” he told her, not understanding how this could have happened, how his Force senses had failed to pick up her deception. “You said that I would be safe here...”

“For a while,” she reminded him, “I said you would be safe for a while, for now. And I haven’t hurt you.”

Cold realisation shook him. She had told him the truth, had hidden her trickery within the folds of honesty.

 “Jem, what...”

“Mara,” she told him. “Mara Jade.”

Luke paused, took that in. He licked his lips and glanced at the rumpled sheets on the sofa bed. “What we did... was... was that part of the plan?”

She shrugged. “You were to be taken uninjured,” she explained, coolly. “You were too agitated. Armed and too ready to fight. I needed you at rest and unprepared.” She stood up, looked down on him. “I improvised.”

He nodded loosely, dropped his head. He was beaten and helpless, striped of his dignity and pride. Now all was lost, now he was to face everything Obi-Wan and Yoda had warned him about.

_“It is you and your abilities the Emperor wants...”_

The troopers hauled him to his feet and dragged him from the room. This time he didn’t fight them.

“Is he worth it?” Mara asked of Vader as quiet descended, unable to see in Skywalker what Vader saw, what her master saw. They said he was a threat, that he was powerful, that he could bring about the destruction of all they had built.

Mara didn’t see that. All she saw was a man beaten and weary, a man who had just had all that he had fought for snatched from him and she was reminded of the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, when she had asked what they would do with him if he surrendered.

Luke knew, as did she, what the Emperor would do. He would be turned, or he would die.

Vader studied her for a moment. “He will be.” He told her with some certainty. He turned his back to her and stepped toward the door.

“Lord Vader?” she called as though she had just remembered something. She didn’t understand this last command of her master, hadn’t the knowledge to grasp the meaning of what she was about to say or why he had chuckled when he had made her repeat the words. However, she wasn’t about to disobey him now.

The Dark Lord stopped, his obsidian mask turning to her.

 “My master said to remind you, that it was a woman’s betrayal that was Skywalker’s father’s downfall, too.”

And Mara Jade was left alone to wonder why the Dark Lord of the Sith’s shoulders slumped as he exited the room after his prisoner.


	2. The Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to sleep, Mara finds herself in Luke's holding cell...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers apply.

**Downfall:**

 

** The Cell **

 

The door of the cell sliced open and the lights within immediately dimmed to a bearable level, but Mara still blinked against the harshness of the illumination and recoiled from the biting chill that washed out into the corridor. Rubbing at her arms through her sleeves, smoothing down the raised pimples that had sprung up in reaction to the cold, she stepped down into the cage.

Skywalker was hunched on the floor, lying soaking wet in the foetal position with hands still bound by the stun cuffs she had placed on him days earlier. His wrists were abraded and bloodied and he was now clad in a pair of grey, draw string, prison issue pants. The walls were dripping with freezing water and violent shivers rippled through his body.  His breathing was laboured, fast - each breath of exhaled air misting before dispelling and disappearing.

She frowned as she stepped forward, as her eyes grew accustomed to the light, noticing dark purple and black marks mottling his shoulders, torso and arms, seeing stains of blood that marred the damp cloth of his trousers.

He had been beaten.

A stir of anger rushed briefly through her; a strange, fleeting feeling that seemed to have no grounding and she pushed it away, dismissed it.

Why should it trouble her if a Rebel prisoner had been beaten?

Her boots scraped on the durasteel grating of the floor and Skywalker glanced up as though just noticing he had a visitor. He squinted at her, blinking as his tired eyes adjusted to the level of light. His lip was cut, his nose crusted with blood, his left eye swollen and bruised.

His eyes flitted to the open doorway behind her and she could sense his thoughts: could he make it past her before the charge from the cuffs dropped him. He clearly decided against trying.

 “Have you come to gloat?” His voice was surprisingly strong despite the freezing temperature, despite his fatigue and injuries.

Mara started at his words, quiet but barbed. She straightened, suddenly defensive. “No,” she told him sharply.

“Then... you are my interrogator?” He sounded sad, resigned.

“No,” she said again.

He looked back at her. “Then why are you here?”

Why _was_ she here? Why had she felt compelled to come down here?

Had she come to see the infamous Luke Skywalker, terrorist and traitor, brought low and punished for his acts of sedition against her master and his Empire. Was she proud that she had achieved in one night what Vader had been unable to accomplish in three years?

The answer was simple: Yes.

She was pleased to have served, she was proud that she had been able to report a successful mission to her master.  She had enjoyed being in the same room as Vader, proud to kneel beside him under the towering hologram of the Emperor as he had praised her work in capturing Skywalker.

She knew that the large man had been irritated by her accomplishment, angered by her success to achieve something in just a few hours that he had failed to do in three years.

She had caught Skywalker cleanly, with no deaths, no destruction, whereas Vader had killed hundreds and torn a city apart while looking for the Rebel pilot.

But, there was something more than that: something that wasn’t as simple as pride. Something that was unexpected and unwanted, something she didn’t understand at all and it had nagged at her, denied her sleep and brought her down to a cell in the bowels of the Executor in the middle of the ship’s night.

_“You said that I would be safe here...”_

There had been something in Skywalker’s voice on his arrest: a sense of betrayal that had sparked something within her that she couldn’t comprehend, that she had never once felt in her career as a Hand.

A gasp of pain drew her attention and Mara started, shaking herself from her thoughts, from her self-searching, unwilling to confront what she knew.

Skywalker was trying to shift position without setting off the cuffs, trying to ease cramping muscles and bruised flesh.

“You shouldn’t fight them,” she stated, looking down on him.

“I didn’t,” he replied, softly.

Again that twist of anger; they had beaten him just for the sake of it, just because they could, just as she knew they would. Why did this bother her? She had done worse as a Hand, had coldly killed without remorse at her master’s bidding.

It wasn’t the first time either that she had used her body to meet the requirements of her mission, not the first time she had bedded a man to slip a vibroblade between his ribs at a vulnerable moment.

She had never given any of her missions a second thought before now. So why did this man and his treatment cause her unease?

He was rebel, a traitor, a terrorist and murderer. He deserved all that her master had in store for him...

... and yet, he had been kind, considerate, trusting and not at all like the man she had been expecting.

“How... long?” he asked, hoarsely, licking cracked lips. “How long has it been?”

She shouldn’t tell, she shouldn’t even be here. She had read the mandate for his treatment; the dazzling lights, the freezing cold, the icy showers, the darkness, the silence. No food, no drinking water, no sleep, no contact with another person until Vader felt he was ready to answer questions.

Just by being here she had interfered, had given him something on which to focus other than his own thoughts and despair. She shouldn’t answer; she should turn away now and leave.

“Almost three days,” she heard her voice say.

Skywalker was silent and Mara knew he was adding up the timeframe, taking into account his days on the run and his days in captivity, working out how many days had passed since his last contact with the Alliance.

He nodded, loosely. His eyes dull and fatigued, looked up at her. “Thank you.”

Mara winced inwardly at the gratitude she heard in his voice. “I...” she started, but he suddenly stiffened, muttered a curse, and Jade felt her own senses sting, felt a seeping darkness weep into the cell before she even heard the footsteps or the repetitive, mechanical wheeze of Vader’s respirator.

She took a step away from Skywalker, her back to the wall as the Dark Lord of the Sith entered the doorway his bulk filling the space, blocking out the light from the corridor beyond.  His presence filled the cell, chilling it further, as he stepped down with two guards trailing at his back.

Even the Dark Lord of the Sith brought his lackeys with him, however Mara knew that, unlike other interrogators, Vader didn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

Mara kept her chin raised in defiance as Vader turned, looked down on her, and silently regarded her for a moment before turning his attention to the rebel on the floor as one of the guards disengaged the stunning mechanism of the binders.

“Stand up,” he ordered, harshly.

Skywalker hesitated, a momentary look of anger and desperation flashed across his face and darkened his eyes. He swallowed, but moved to comply. He placed his bound hands against the wall at his back to brace himself and pushed unsteadily to his feet. Mara knew his training would be kicking in. He would obey as far as he was able to minimise injury to himself, to keep whatever strength he had for as long as he could, protecting whatever Alliance secrets he knew until the time limit for him to check in or return to them was passed. Then all the codes, secrets and locations would become obsolete as the Alliance altered them and moved their forces.

Hence the reason he had asked how long he had been captive. He needed to know how long he had to last before breaking.

Mara knew it would do him no good. Vader was adept at breaking men down; even Jedi Knights.

She turned to leave, not wishing to watch.

“Stay,” Vader told her softly not turning around and she froze, chilled. “The Emperor wishes you to remain.”

Anxiety rolled in her belly. They knew! They had known she would come here, had known of her conflict and her master was now taking steps to wipe it from her.

“As the Emperor commands,” Mara bowed her head, shamed, feeling as though she had failed her master. She remained by the door behind Vader’s back, unwilling to move closer and perhaps obstruct Vader’s duties...

_....not wanting so see, not wanting to look..._

... or interfere with the proceedings.

“Turn around,” Vader instructed his prisoner, stepping to the side and out of Mara’s line of sight, leaving her with an unobstructed view of the prisoner.

_They knew her feelings, her reluctance!_

Mara straightened her back and set her jaw. She was the Emperor’s hand and she would not fail in this command.

 “Face the wall,” Vader demanded of the captive.

Mara caught the glance that Skywalker gave her, his eyes flickering to the open door beside her, but he turned around as ordered, shoulders slumped, head low.

The guards moved in and released his binders.

The suddenness and strength of his movements stunned Mara. He threw both arms wide crying out with exertion as the guards were sent flying in opposite directions to thud against the cell walls. Even before they had crumpled to the floor Skywalker had twisted around, ducked down and rolled past Vader heading for door.

Mara threw herself at him, caught him and they tumbled out of the cell and onto the floor of the corridor. She landed under him, her arms encircling his waist, her hands warm against his chilled skin...

_... she moaned, ran her hand along his arm feeling strong muscle beneath the skin. He shivered at her touch, pulled her tighter to deepen the kiss, pressed his body against her.  He brushed his lips against her bruised cheek and again journeyed down her neck breathing in her scent as his lips found her collar bone once more._

_She arched against him wanting..._

Their eyes caught for brief moment and Mara was suddenly sure that Skywalker had been remembering the same, remembering the last time she had lain beneath him.

He abruptly broke contact, twisted out of her grasp. She tried to grab onto him, tried to find purchase on his skin, but he wrenched away, pushed himself to his feet and took two staggering steps forward.

The sudden blow came from behind, Vader’s own Force push sending Skywalker violently sideways to smack against the corridor wall.

He fell heavily to the floor.

Vader stepped into the corridor, bent down and grasped the Rebel’s upper arm, dragging him, struggling, back into the space of the chamber. Mara picked herself up and followed, ducking down as the cell door began to close. As it clanged shut Skywalker swiftly brought his hand up and against Vader’s shoulder armour. Again there was a push within the Force. The Dark Lord swayed, stumbled back a few paces as his captive wrenched his arm away and spun, hand stretched out towards one of the incapacitated guards.

The man’s blaster pistol flew into the open palm and Skywalker twisted on his bare feet lifting the gun up to point at the Dark Lord of the Sith, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Vader was quicker, catching the younger man’s wrist. The shot blasted into the ceiling, sending a burst of hot, fragmented durasteel showering onto the floor. Skywalker’s arm was twisted behind his back and his legs swept from under him.

He landed hard, shouting his frustration and terror into the metal grating, as Vader kneeled across his shoulders. The blaster was ripped from his hand and thrown across the cell.

“You will never again lift your hand to me,” Vader snarled, his breathing quickened. He grasped Skywalker’s right wrist and twisted.

Mara’s stomach leapt and she took an involuntary step backward, watching in horror as the Dark Lord snapped the rebel’s wrist and tore the hand viciously from the arm. Skywalker howled in agony.

Vader tossed the hand to the side where it landed at Mara’s feet, she recoiled, drew back before it registered that it was a prosthetic that Vader had removed. She gasped, swallowed her nausea, looking up as Vader maintained his weight on Skywalker, holding him down.

 “You would be wise to accept what you cannot change,” Vader was saying, his voice resonating with rage. “There is no escape, no way out. It is pointless to defy me.”

The rebel was gasping, gagging in pain, his struggles weakening under the weight of Vader’s bulk. The prosthetic cap fitted to his injury was still in place, but blood leaked from its seams and Mara knew that his nerves, once neatly spliced with the synth-net neural interface of the prosthetic, were now exposed.

The guards struggled to their feet, one popping open a pouch attached to his belt. He withdrew a hypospray and knelt beside the restrained prisoner.

“I’m a Jedi,” Skywalker gasped, raggedly, as the guard roughly grasped his uninjured arm and twisted it to expose the veins. “I can fight drugs.”

“Not this one,” Vader told him, coldly as the guard pressed the hypo to the skin.

Mara dragged her feet forward, repulsed, yet strangely fascinated, with the events unfolding within the confines of the cell. She knew that her master would be unhappy with her revulsion, knew that she had to set aside the conflicts that Skywalker had raised within her and do her master’s bidding.

The guard injected the hypo’s contents. The effects were immediate as Skywalker loudly cried out, his body stiffened with cramping and constricting muscles. He screamed and jerked as involuntary spasms ran through him, his legs kicked, his body arched and his forehead thudded against the floor grating bursting the skin.

He fell silent as Vader caught his head, placing a hand beneath his forehead, cushioning it as he violently convulsed.

“He’s fitting!” Mara stated, ready to call for a medic on Vader’s orders.

“No,” Vader told her. “This reaction will not last.”

Even as he spoke Skywalker’s body slackened, went limp and very still.  

It seemed an age to Mara before he stirred and groaned quietly. Vader moved, hauling his prisoner to his feet by the back of his neck and pushing him roughly against the wall, holding him in place for the guards.

“Restrain him,” the Dark Lord ordered.

The guards complied; one shackling his ankles, the other releasing a hidden panel midway up a wall. The section of wall moved, rotated, to expose a bar about the thickness of a man’s arm and about a metre and a half long with six fastenings welded along its durasteel.

Vader released his grip and Skywalker sagged into the arms of the guards as they turned him, lifted his arms and wrapped them around the bar fixing him in place by the shoulders, elbows and remaining wrist. 

Skywalker moaned, slumped low into the bonds, head hanging as cold sweat and warm blood dripped from his brow.

The bar moved upward, dragging the rebel with it until his toes were millimetres off the floor. He grunted as bruised shoulders took the brunt of his weight.

Mara frowned, suddenly aware that something was missing, that something that had been strong and potent was now completely absent. Astounded and confused she turned to Vader. “His presence in the Force, it’s... gone. That drug...”

“The suppressor attacks a Jedi at the root of his connection with the Force. It stuns them, leaving them temporarily inert and the Jedi powerless.” Vader explained, watching his prisoner closely.

“Them?” Mara asked, not understanding what Vader was saying, unaware of this “root” that he spoke of.

The Dark Lord ignored her, stepping in as the guards moved back. He took Skywalker’s chin in his hand. Mara was taken aback at the touch, it seemed gentle somehow, not in keeping with his earlier violence.

 “Luke.”

Surprised by Vader’s use of the rebel’s first name, the intimacy of it, the familiarity, Mara moved closer wondering what tact the Dark Lord was taking. Usually Vader went straight to high intensity questioning, not allowing his subject respite or reprieve... but that did not seem to be his approach with Skywalker.

The Dark Lord of the Sith had scoured the Galaxy for this man, had bludgeoned an entire city looking for the Rebel, had seethed with anger when he capitulated to Palpatine’s command that his Hand try a different method of capture and now that he had Skywalker he was almost...

_... kind..._

It would appear that perhaps she was not the only one affected by Skywalker’s presence – perhaps the Jedi had an innate talent for creating conflict.

Mara smiled to herself, shrugged away her thoughts with another; perhaps Vader was just toying with his prisoner, enjoying the moment and drawing out the tension.

“Luke.”

Skywalker was quiet, his eyes closed. He was breathing heavily, fighting the agony of his injuries, the exertion his hung position caused on his shoulders, the drug in his body, his fatigue and dehydration.

“Luke,” Vader tried again

Slowly the swollen eyes opened, blinked away blood, and fixed on the man before him.

“The Emperor has demanded that you be questioned.”

The blue eyes closed. “I... will fight you.”

Vader was undeterred. “And you will lose.”

One breath, two. “I’ll... still fight you.... fa...”

Vader’s vicious back hand snapped Luke’s head to the side, silencing him.  “It is useless to resist, Luke. I will show no mercy.”

Skywalker slowly rallied, weakened and robbed of the Force he still fought, was still defiant. Despite herself Mara only felt admiration for his tenacity, but she also knew it was a useless fight. Vader would wear him down, break him.

The battered man lifted his head, stared at his captor as thick, dark blood rose and dripped from his lips.

“I... don’t expect mercy, fa...”

Another back hand, lashing the Rebel’s head back, thudding it off the wall behind him.

Gradually Skywalker raised his head again, this time his eyes flicking to the side to settle on Mara. He smiled at her as though he has just realised something. He looked back to the Dark Lord.

“She... doesn’t... know... does she? No-one knows...”

“The Emperor knows,” Vader told him.

He swallowed, licked away some of the blood. “Is that... supposed to scare me?”

“It is supposed to give you clarity.”

Skywalker closed his eyes, a small smile still curling his lips as he echoed with a whisper, “Clarity....”

“You must understand what awaits you, Luke. You must see the futility of resistance,” Vader emphasised. It sounded like Vader was imploring with his captive, entreating with him, begging

There was something else happening here that she was not party, too. There was a knowledge that both Skywalker and Vader shared with her master that she knew nothing about. Irritated that she had been kept in the dark, and curious about what was happening between captive and captor Mara took another step closer.

Her movement caught Skywalker’s eyes and they flickered her way once more, remained on her as he spoke. “I will always resist you, fa...”

The blow split his cheek, sending out a spray of blood. His head hung low, his eyes closed and Mara was sure that this time Vader had battered him into unconsciousness, but slowly Skywalker winced and opened his eyes fixing them on the Sith Lord. She was beginning to believe that Skywalker was baiting the Dark Lord by repeatedly trying to say the same word, was wanting hammered into unconsciousness – after all it would prolong the time he had even if only by a few moments until he could be rallied and wakened again.

Vader himself seemed to sense this; his gloved and bloodied fist tightened in a gesture that Mara recognised as suppressed fury and frustration and he took a step away from the suspended man.

“The Force is lost to you,” he stated, “you are weakened, injured and without hope. Your rebel friends cannot help you here. It would be in your own interests to answer my questions.”

Skywalker closed his eyes, hung his head, took in a breath and slowly exhaled. He lifted his head, stared at the man before him. “Then... ask them,” he requested with resignation.

Mara could feel Vader’s victory, his accomplishment at this small submission on Skywalker’s part. He leaned in and asked. “Where is Master Yoda?”

Mara’s own confusion over the question, her ignorance of such an individual and why they would be the first subject discussed in the interrogation was overshadowed by Skywalker’s reaction. Although he was cut off from the Force the rebel pilot’s shock and horror at the question was obvious to all. He tried to hide it, tried to pass off his expression as result of the pains of his body but Mara knew, as did Vader, that Skywalker had not expected this question and, perhaps even more obvious; he knew the answer.

He swallowed dryly, remained silent.

Minutes ticked by before Vader spoke once more.

“I have no wish to harm you further, Luke,” Vader warned with a wave of his hand to the waiting guards. Again a wall section broke away, opening to reveal a small, black, spherical droid, the thrum of its antigrav and propulsion systems filled the silence of the cell. “But I will have no qualms in doing so should you force my hand.”

Mara watched as Skywalker glanced at the droid, at the appendages that hung from it. Her belly clenched with unexpected anxiety as he looked beyond the Dark Lord and saw her still standing at Vader’s back. There was acceptance in his expression, knowledge that there was nothing else that he could do to prevent what was about to happen and he wanted her to know that she had played a part in this, that it was her actions that had brought him here to this place and to this situation.

Mara stood straighter, proudly lifted her chin and stared back at him. He was, after all where he deserved to be, where all traitors to her master deserved to be.

So why did she feel this way, why did guilt gnaw at her gut?

_“You said that I would be safe here...”_ His voice resounded in her mind, the accusation raw.

Vader glanced around at her, and she could feel him glaring at her from beneath his mask, could feel his chagrin at having to have her in the cell with them, providing another focal point for his captive, something that distracted and interrupted the questioning.

The Dark Lord reached out and grabbed Skywalker’s chin, turning his eyes away from the Emperor’s hand. “She cannot help you, only I have the power to stop this, only I can release you from your bonds.”

“Then... release me...” his voice was quiet, over powered by pain and something else – a plea? “...fa...”

Another blow abruptly cutting off the word that Skywalker had been trying to say. Another prolonged silence as blood ran and dripped from split lips and gashed flesh. It took longer for Skywalker to rally; he tried to adjust himself on the bar, tired to ease his body into a less excruciating position. He groaned, slowly shook his head and lifted his gaze once more to his tormentor and he finished his whisper.

“...ther...”

The two fragments of the one word coalesced and Mara’s breath caught in her throat.

_Father!_

Skywalker had been trying to call Vader “father.”

She almost laughed at the ridiculous notion, but the sound died before it could be uttered as Vader suddenly spun around and with a sweep of his arm and a clench of his fists the two guards suddenly gasped, their necks collapsing inward with a sickening crunch. They fell in a heap to the floor as Vader looked her way.

Mara stumbled backward, her hand fumbling at her belt for her lightsaber as she realised the depth of the secret, understood Skywalker’s previous statement and the danger she was in.

_“She... doesn’t... know... does she? No-one knows...”_

And Vader’s reply, _“The Emperor knows.”_

And worse. The message she had to give Vader on Skywalker’s capture.

_“My master said to remind you, that it was a woman’s betrayal that was Skywalker’s father’s downfall, too.”_

Vader moved toward her, loomed over her.

 “I...am the Emperor’s Hand!” She reminded him, igniting the lightsaber, its blade coming between them. Mara knew the sword would not stop the Force and Vader was so much stronger than she should he choose to choke her or throw her. She could resist, she could fight, but ultimately she knew Vader would win.

“You are replaceable,” Vader told her, coldly, lifting his bloodied hand.

“He favours me!” Mara warned him, her back hitting the cell wall as she stepped backward. “He will be displeased if you kill me.”

“Fa..ther, please... leave.. her...”

The quiet words uttered with pain caught Vader’s attention. His helmet tilted and he seemed to consider the prisoner’s...

_... his son’s..._

... words. Then he lowered his arm and turned away from her.

“Leave,” he ordered her.

Mara deactivated her lightsaber, suddenly aware that there was a strong possibility that Skywalker had just saved her life. “I thought the Emperor wished to have me present,” she reluctantly reminded him but indignant that he was dismissing her. “I will not disobey my Master.”

“I will assume responsibility for ordering you out.”

“The Emperor will know of this,” she told him, angrily.

When he turned toward her again she was sure that she had said the wrong thing, thought that he would finish what he had started. But he merely gestured to the cell monitoring systems and told her, “He already does.”

“I cannot disobey!” Mara repeated standing her ground. Her master wanted her here, he had sensed her weakness, her doubt and conflict about Skywalker and this was a lesson in humility and she would learn it. She could not afford anyone to have such an effect on her, could not allow herself to have second thoughts about her duties. She was the Emperor’s Hand, these emotions were useless and distracting and needed to be purged before they compromised her.

And just as the lesson was learned, he was with her, speaking in her mind. _“Well done, my child. However, remember these feelings and use them to suit My purposes.”_

Her master’s praise soothed her, tempered her anger. However, his advice confused her. Weaker feelings such as guilt and compassion were not normally encouraged. _“Thank You, Master, but I am not sure...”_

_“You must be sure, Hand. You must be sure of what your duty is.”_

She bowed her head, closed her eyes. _“My duty is to you, master, always.”_

There was a chuckle through the Force. _“That is what you must never forget.”_ Palpatine told her. “ _I have a use for these feeling of yours and you will nurture them.”_

Despite her puzzlement Mara answered. _“I am yours to command, my master.”_

_“Now, leave the cell and remain outside.”_

Mara opened her eyes to find Vader waiting in silence before her. His opticals stared blankly at her as he waited for the conclusion of her conversation with the Emperor.

“You will leave.” He confirmed.

Again she lifted her chin, returned his gaze with grim determination. “As you wish, Lord Vader.”

A minute nod was her answer and the Dark Lord of the Sith turned his sole attention to his son.

“Do not be under the illusion that our relationship means anything to me,” she heard him warn Skywalker as the door to the cell opened for her.

“That’s... not the... impression... I got on... Bespin...”

Another vicious back hand. “You are an enemy of the Empire and will be treated as such.”

 Mara hesitated by the open doorway and looked back. Vader had Skywalker by the chin once more, his masked facade leaning in, mere centimetres from his son’s face. The interrogation droid was hovering close by, positioned over the rebel Jedi’s injured arm.

“I ask again... where is Master Yoda?”

The door slammed shut at her back deadening Skywalker’s screams as the droid loosed its first shock into his arm.

_“Lord Vader will not succeed with Skywalker,”_ her master touched her mind. _“The boy is wilful, wild. He has been controlled by the Jedi, indoctrinated by the Alliance and will accept no alternative. Lord Vader’s methods are cruel and violent and young Skywalker will be gravely injured; left physically and emotionally bereft with the knowledge that his own father has brutalised him._

_“But a kinder hand, a caring hand that shows compassion and concern may succeed where force has not – as it did before when you captured him. Skywalker needs comfort, not torment, to loosen his tongue. ”_

It was then that Mara knew this had all been planned, staged, by her master and his apprentice. They had known he would reveal his relationship to Vader. Vader had killed the guards and threatened Mara to bring out the Jedi’s protective instincts. She could then be sent out of the cell and take no part in the interrogation, thus leaving Skywalker with one person who had not harmed him.

There was a flaw in their strategy though.

_“He... he may not respond. He knows I betrayed him, he knows what I am,”_ Mara pointed out.

Again there was a chuckle. “ _When one is so injured and hurt the senses are dulled. He is lost to the Force, thirsty, cold and fatigued. Skywalker will be vulnerable, open to suggestion, confused and delirious. He will respond to you, he will tell you what we need to know and he will be crushed when he realises what he has done.”_

Although Palpatine was not with her in person Mara bowed her head in obeisance, ignoring the twist of discomfort that coiled within her. _“As you command, master.”_

ooOOoo

Silence fell from within the cell.

As she had for the last few times that all had gone quiet, Mara waited. She waited for Vader to begin again once the prisoner had been rallied, waited for Vader’s growled demands, the pitched screams and shrieks that followed when Skywalker refused to yield.

And still it was quiet.

Mara drew in a breath and blew it out again, rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension that stiffened her muscles. She wasn’t sure what was the causing the tightness; the build up of anxious energy as she lingered in the oppressive atmosphere of the detention centre, or the simple fact that she had been on her feet, in the same place, for several hours with no rest while she waited to carry out her master’s bidding.

She leaned against the wall, briefly contemplated sliding down it to sit on the floor, but there were guards further up the corridor, troopers patrolling the control centre and it would not be appropriate for the Emperor’s hand to sprawl on the floor like a bored child.

Silence.

She rubbed the back of her neck again, moved her shoulders, trying to dispel her discomfort and leaned the back of her head against the durasteel.

The door suddenly slashed open.

Mara straightened, stood, as the Dark Lord stepped up into the corridor. Vader’s armour was spattered with flecks of blood, drying crimson streaks ran down the angles of his mask. Without acknowledging her he strode past, only to slow and stop a few steps away.

“He needs medical attention.” He did not turn around.

“Of course, my Lord,” she acknowledged, stepping toward the open doorway.

“Jade,” His voice stopped her. “He is not to be further harmed,” and if Mara didn’t know better she would have thought that the Dark Lord of the Sith sounded exhausted, weary and despondent.

“Those are not my orders, my Lord,” she assured him.

Mara watched him walk away before calling to the nearest guard. “Raise the cell temperature. We need a full EMT team for Skywalker,” she ordered and, recalling the dead guards, she added, “and a cleaning crew.”

Mara didn’t wait for his acknowledgement. She took a deep breath and stepped down into the cell.

The two corpses lay where Vader had dropped them, necks twisted at impossible angles. She stepped away from them, her focus on the figure still suspended from the wall.

Skywalker’s head had fallen forward, his hair tumbling over his face, a slow trickle of blood dripped from his hidden features to land and run through the cell’s floor grating. His shoulders were stretched by his own body weight, one slightly twisted at the joint where the ball had dislocated from the socket. The bruising on his torso had darkened and deepened, his chest was marred with criss-cross patterns of contusions from the floor grill - a result of Vader holding him down and kneeling across his back. She was sure that his back would be similarly marked with an imprint of the Dark Lord’s knee.

The interrogation droid still hovered over its subject, its dark casing, like Vader’s armour, was streaked with blood.

“Stand down droid,” she told it. Moving closer she noticed deep charring on and around the prosthetic cap that covered his stump. The pungent stench of burned flesh hung heavy in the air.

The machine obediently moved back, disappearing back into the wall.

“Skywalker?”

She bent down, brushing the matted hair from the sweat and blood-encrusted forehead. She grimaced at the sight of the bruised and battered features. The eyes were swollen shut and she was sure that under the bruised flesh, his cheek bone was fractured. Blood crawled lazy paths down his face and gathered to drip from his chin and the end of his nose.

There was no response, just his slow and laboured breathing.

She lowered the bar bringing the rebel down. He grunted against the pain the movement caused and his shackled legs folded lifelessly as his feet touched the floor.

“Skywalker?” She tried again.

Still no response.

Mara undid the arm restraints, moving under him and supporting his weight as she freed the restraints on his shoulders one after the other. He dropped onto her and, ignoring his moans and protests of pain, she eased him down and gathered him into her arms as she sat on the floor.

His skin was freezing, so cold and pale that had it not been for the breath that ghosted in the air as he exhaled that she may have mistaken him for a corpse.

A clatter of footsteps drew her attention as the requested medical team arrived. She glanced up, held up her hand and gestured for them to wait.

Then, with the same hand, she caressed Skywalker’s brow, smoothed back his hair.

“Luke?” She tried again, frustrated that Vader had made her task nigh impossible by leaving his captive....

... _his son!..._

... practically comatose, dehydrated and hypothermic. But it was too early to allow the medics to treat him. He would be taken from her, he would be surrounded by several people and she would be lost to him as others called his name, as others touched and treated him.

It was only her voice he should hear for now, only her hands he should feel.

He had fought hard, had held against Vader through sheer force of will. It was time for him to let go, time to relax and allow those barriers he had maintained against his father to crumple and fall.

He moved, jerked and lay still.

She held him close warming him with her body and was gratified that warm air was beginning to bleed into the cell from the floor.

“Come on, Luke...”

A slow moan rewarded her and she smiled as he stirred. “That’s it, Luke. It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

“No...” It was a whisper, barely audible. “Va...der...”

“Vader’s not here, Luke. Only I’m here,” she assured him. “You’re safe. No-one is going to hurt you. It’s all over.”  Mara ignored the twist of guilt that knotted her stomach.

 It wasn’t over for him – it had only just begun.

 Glancing up at the waiting medics she mouthed “water” at them. One of them tossed a bottle to her and she deftly caught it, twisted off the cap and placed it at Luke’s lips and gently tilted. The water ran down his chin, very little crossing over his lips and into his mouth.

He choked, coughed against it.

“It’s water, Luke,” she told him, unsure if he even had the strength to swallow. She tried again, spilling a few more drops into his mouth and breathed a sigh of relief as he licked his lips and swallowed.

“I’ve called for medics, they should be here soon,” she assured him, emphasizing the ‘I,’ letting him know that it was she who was in control, that it she who was caring for him. Although Mara knew that given the state of him that he probably didn’t recognise her, didn’t know who she was, but he would know on some level that she wasn’t Vader and that she wasn’t hurting him.

She gave him a few more drops of water then gently held him. Everything was still, quiet as she waited. Then he retched, gagged and she lay him down, turned him on his side until the dry spasms passed.

Mara gathered him back into her arms, wiped gently at his mouth with her sleeve. He moaned, and she gently whispered. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Not long now.”

His head turned into her body, like a child seeking comfort, “Be...n...” he moaned.

Mara remained still, not knowing who ‘Ben’ was, whispering gently, “shhhhh, it’s okay, Luke. It’s okay. They’ll be here soon.” She glanced up at the waiting medics watching silently by the door.

“Va...der... fa..ther... no...not true...please...”

“Shhh, Luke, everything will be all right. You’ll be all right...” She smoothed his brow, avoiding the blood encrusted gash in his forehead as he slipped deeper into delirium. “Vader’s not here he’s gone now. You’re safe.”

His legs twitched, kicked restlessly. “Vader.... Ben... I... truth...”

Mara reached down, took and held his uninjured hand as he shuddered, moaned as he fought against whatever images his tired and dehydrated brain fired at him. He whispered and rambled.

“Ben... Leia... where? I’m... late... they... they’ll know... He said... Yoda... need... to know... Yoda...”

Mara started at the name of the Master Jedi that Vader sought. She swallowed her sudden excitement, smiling; her own master had been right. Denied the Force and in his confusion and pain, Luke was about to tell them what they wanted.

“It’s okay,” she whispered again, “it’s okay, Luke...”

“N..n...no... no... please... Yoda... Vader...”

“It’s okay, it’s okay...I’m here. I’m with you... you’re safe.”

“...Father... My fa...ther...Yoda... need to... need to... go back... go back... promised...”

“Who promised, Luke?”

His battered face grimaced, the movement opened the cut on his cheek and fresh blood welled and spilled. “Promised...”

His head twisted and his body trembled as his agitation grew and Mara knew she couldn’t wait much longer before allowing the medics in to treat him.

“Promise... to.... promised... I... go back...”

“Go back where Luke?”

Again his legs kicked, his bare heels scraping across the floor panels. “I... go back... Yoda...”

He groaned, and she held him soothed him. “It’s okay, you’ll be all right. Go back where, Luke? Where is Yoda?”

“...I... Dagobah... back.... Yoda... Dagobah...”

Mara grinned, glanced up in triumph at the medics and nodded. As they swarmed into the cell with their equipment she bent forward and gently kissed Skywalker’s brow. “The medics are here, Luke. You did well.”

Mara placed him down and stood back, making room for the medical staff and, as they began their assessment of him, she turned for the door.

Back in the corridor she heaved in a breath of air, and slowly exhaled it. She hadn’t realised how tense she had been and she smiled in pleasure as she felt her master’s touch, felt how pleased he was with her, with the information that she had managed to elicit from the prisoner.

Smiling she walked away from the activity in the cell toward the command centre and found Vader standing alone by the main console watching the activity in the cell on the monitors. At the sound of her footsteps he turned to her and she stopped in front on him.

They stood in silence regarding one another and Mara noted with more than hint of pride that once more she had bested him with regards to his own son, but she held back her smile not wishing to provoke the Dark Lord.

He looked down at her then turned away. “You need to wash your hands, Jade.”

She glanced down. Her hands were marked by Skywalker’s blood, her jacket and pants were similarly stained.

“I think Lord Vader, that you have more of your son’s blood on your hands than I do.”

“You disapprove?” He asked, turning back to face her.

Mara was taken aback. She hadn’t intended to show disapproval. Skywalker was a traitor, the enemy; he deserved everything that had been done to him and more. He deserved death for openly defying the Emperor.

And yet...

“He’s your son,” she point out as though that fact alone was all she had to say.

“And the Emperor is as much my master as he is yours,” he informed her, leaning forward to add, “and, like you, I obey my master.”

It suddenly made sense to her. Vader had specifically told Skywalker that the Emperor had ordered his interrogation and Mara had to wonder if their master had also ordered the methods used.

No, she thought, she didn’t have to wonder. She knew...

_“Lord Vader’s methods are cruel and violent and young Skywalker will be gravely injured; left physically and emotionally bereft with the knowledge that his own father has brutalised him.”_

... Palpatine had forced the father to torture the son. It would drive a larger wedge between them than already existed with one being loyal and one being Rebel. Skywalker would hate his father, fear him and reject him.

And Palptine would be there to welcome him.

But where did that leave her? Why had her master placed her in the city as a lure and trap, and then placed her in the cell for the same ends?

What part was she playing in Palpatine’s schemes?

Mara shook herself; this was not something she should be thinking about. She should not be questioning her master’s motives, merely obeying his orders without thought, without question. She was his Hand, an extension of his will in the Galaxy meeting out his justice to those worthy of it.

Something else occurred to her, something that she should not ask, something that she should not be concerned with, something that brought into question the intentions of the Empire’s second in command and yet it was something she had to know.

“If he asked you to kill him, would you do it?”

Vader hesitated, not long and many would not have picked up the minute beat of time, but Mara did.

Vader drew himself to his full height. “Yes.”

Mara knew he was lying and that was all she needed to know. She was already wary of the Dark Lord, already conducted herself around him with more focus and attention than she gave anyone else bar her master. She knew he viewed her as unnecessary, as a mildly irritating project of Palpatine’s, something to be endured and ultimately destroyed should she stumble too far into his designs.

Now she needed to be more cautious, now she needed to take care that she did not come between father and son as there was little more vicious and vengeful than a parent protecting a child.

And Mara had to wonder just who would protect Skywalker from his father.

ooOOoo

Mara stood alone in the control hub of the detention centre. She had not been permitted into the cell this time, access to Skywalker denied to her by both her master and Vader. She had done her duty and had gotten the information they had required; now she was to stand aside and allow the Dark Lord to do his.

She ground her teeth in frustration and anger, feeling sidelined and dismissed: she had done everything asked of her and yet now she was to merely observe. It was her actions that had captured Skywalker; it was her whispers and murmurs of comfort that had loosened his tongue.

But did she really wish to be in that room now and stand by Vader, be a part of what they were about to take from him?

_“I won’t hurt you,”_ she had assured him before taking him to her bed.

But she had lied.

What she had done was worse than the beatings he had endured from Vader. What she had done was deceitful and cruel and...

....and it should not trouble her. She should not be unsettled or disconcerted by fulfilling her duties for her master.

Skywalker was a traitor, an insurgent determined to depose her master from his throne.

Why did she need to remind herself of that, why did regret and guilt gnaw at the back of her mind?

_“I’m usually accused of trusting too easily.”_

He had trusted her. He had thought he had saved her from the stormtroopers, considered surrendering to save the city and its people from the destruction that Vader was inflicting upon it.

He had been kind, considerate and had been concerned that the troopers had hurt her.

“ _I have a use for these feeling of yours and you will nurture them,”_ her master had ordered her.

She had nurtured them, she had used them on behalf of her master, but now she didn’t know what to do with them, didn’t know how to silence the doubts and confusion they raised within her.

Mara closed her eyes, gripped the edge of the console and dipped her head. She drew in a slow breath trying to clear her mind, trying to quieten her thoughts lest her master hear them.

A sound from the monitors drew her attention and she glanced up at the screens that showed several views of the same room.

Skywalker’s cell.

The door had opened and she watched as Darth Vader stepped down toward the bunk where Skywalker lay strapped down and hooked up to medical scanners and intravenous lines.

They’d had to remove him from the holding cell temporarily and take him to the ships medical bay where they had restored his body temperature and fluid balance. They repaired fractures to his face and ribs, closed the gashes of his forehead and cheek, covering his wounds with saturated bacta dressings. The burned, dead flesh and bone from his arm was excised, shortening the limb by another few centimetres and a new prosthetic cap fitted.

Once stabilised, they had returned him to his prison to awaken in the same dark hole in which he had passed out.

Mara held her breath, watching as Skywalker turned his head toward his father, only to turn away again as though disinterested.

Vader stood at the side of the bunk looking down upon his son.

There was silence between the two apart from the regular rasping of Vader’s breathing and the beeping of the monitors as they tracked Skywalker’s rising agitation, although the captive’s face betrayed none of his feelings.

Mara couldn’t help but admire the courage she saw there, couldn’t stop herself from twisting away - unable to watch after all.

In the end Vader uttered only one word before turning and leaving the cell.

 Leaving his son alone with his thoughts.

“Dagobah.”

 

ooOOoo


	3. The Open Door - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing that it was his weakness and failure that lead to the death of Master Yoda, Luke struggles to keep his inner demons at bay.

** Downfall: **

** The Open Door **

** Part One **

Luke had no idea how much time had passed since Vader had stood by the bunk he was strapped to. He had lost all sense of time, all sense of day or night, of minute or hour. Each instant bled into the next with nothing to define it, nothing that gave him any sense of passing moments, nothing that would consign it to his memory and give him an understanding of _when_ this was.

There was pain of course, the constant gnawing agony of his injured arm, the throbbing of his cheek bone, the sharp stabbing pain of injured ribs as he drew in and then exhaled each breath. There was the beeping of the medical equipment around him as they monitored his vital signs, fed him fluids through the intravenous line that was inserted into the back of his remaining hand and took waste from him through the catheter that was threaded into his body.

There was the searing heat, the exquisite agony that burned through his body with each new dose of the drug that caused his body to jerk and convulse and that somehow kept the Force from him.

There was the light that burned his eyes when he opened them and so he lay with them closed and stared at the red of the inside of his eyelids.

There was his own breathing: sometimes slow and laboured as he fought against the pain; other times quick and fast, punctuated with soft grunts when the anguish of his amputated arm became too much to bear.

There were also the soft whispers of cloth and skin in the moments when his frustration and despair came to a head and he thrashed futilely against the bonds that tied him down.

These were the sounds of his life now, the only things that defined his existence… and he focused on them so that he would not hear the inner workings of his mind, the murmurs and whispers of his most insidious thoughts.

But nothing could drown the sense of horror and hopelessness that purled slowly through him, cool and chilling, sinister.

_“Dagobah.”_

Vader’s voice reverberated.

_“Dagobah.”_

He had betrayed Master Yoda.

At some point he had succumbed to the interrogation, surrendered to the torture, and had given Vader what he wanted.

He couldn’t remember the exact moment: that minute point in time. He couldn’t remember saying the word; couldn’t remember Yoda’s location passing his lips.

He could recall Vader coming into the cell; he remembered being on the floor pinned under the Dark Lord, the agony as his prosthetic hand was ripped from his body. He remembered the drug, remembered the scorching heat of it, the fire as is it seared through his veins and convulsed his body and the sudden stillness that it left in its wake as the Force was stolen from him.

There was the bar he was secured too, the droid, the blows to his face. The...

...girl in the background watching. The girl he had...

_“I live nearby; you’ll be safe... for a while anyway. It is warm and dry, you can eat, rest.”_

... trusted.

The meal she had cooked for him was the last food he had eaten.

The bed he had lain on with her was the last comfort his body had known.

Her hands; their softness, their caresses as their bodies had joined was the last time anyone had touched him tenderly, gently.

_“It’s okay, it’s okay...I’m here. I’m with you... you’re safe.”_

His brow knitted, the dressing on his fore head puckering, as a whisper of a memory traced across his mind, the sensation of someone being with him, of soothing him, giving comfort and reassurance after the torture.

Her voice.

A dream?

Wishful thinking that someone here, in this place, could care?

A swell of pain rippled along his arm. He arched against his bonds, grimacing and crying out as it surged in waves along the limb.

He laughed as he cried: a rough, humourless self-depreciating sound.

They fed him medicines: but not painkillers.

No-one here cared… least of all the man who claimed to be his father.

_“Dagobah.”_

How long had it been now?

How long since Vader had said the word and then left him alone?

Had Yoda known what was coming?

Had the old Jedi sensed it all, seen it through the Force?

Would he have time to escape before Vader descended?

Did Yoda even have means of escape?

_“Much anger in him, like his father.”_

Father.

_“I am your father!”_

Vader.

He remembered calling Vader “father,” remembered trying to taunt him and being beaten for it. He remembered...

_“Powerful Jedi was he, powerful Jedi...”_

Could it true?

And had Yoda known?

Hidden it from him.

Had Ben?

His aunt and uncle?

Had his entire life been a lie, a series of lies, as his sire’s identity had been twisted and stolen from him?

But stolen by whom?

A navigator.

A Jedi Knight.

A Sith Lord.

His head rolled on the metallic bunk and he groaned just to hear something new, just to have something else on which to focus to stop the tumbling of his mind.

How had they known of Yoda?

How had they known to ask that of him?

And did it matter?

He had betrayed his master.

He had pointed Vader...

_...my father..._

... in the right direction.

How long had it been? How many minutes, hours or days had it been since Vader had stood by his side and informed him of his treachery?

Was it over now?

Was Yoda dead?

Had the last of the Jedi been killed?

Because of him, because of him....

...because he wasn’t strong enough.

_“Dagobah.”_

When had he told?

He couldn’t remember, couldn’t string his memories together. If he remembered he might understand, he might know what had driven him to betray his master, he might know what it was that had forced the name of the planet from his lips.

If only...

The red of the lights shining through his eye lids suddenly dimmed and he heard the door of the cell slashed open.

Luke bit back a cry of alarm, opened his eyes and through tired tears watched as guards and medics stepped down into his cell.

He lay helpless as the catheters were removed, as the intravenous lines were withdrawn and the sensors and dressings torn from him. The medics stood aside. Black-clad guards stepped to his side and released the binders, sliding him from the bunk, dropping him on the floor in a heap of weak and useless limbs.

The bunk and the medical monitors disappeared into various recesses in the wall.

Breathing heavily, he lay watching as the medics left without a word and the guards took up positions either side of the open door.

He swallowed, gagging dryly, as Vader’s bulk filled the opening and stepped down into the cell. The Dark Lord stood still, helmet tilted down, regarding him for long seconds. It was only when Vader moved that Luke realised that his father was carrying something; a small stick, a bundle of cloth...

_No..._

The stick clattered to the floor beside him, followed by Yoda’s robes and Luke closed his eyes in horror and grief.

_No..._

He hitched in a rough breath, unable to fight the guilt and desolation that blanketed him.

“He died knowing you had betrayed him,” Vader intoned. “He died knowing you were with me.”

Luke opened his eyes, stared up at the hulk of the man standing over him. Anger stirred within him. Through worn vocal cords he forced out. “I... am... not... with you.”

 “You will be,” he was told with some certainty.

Luke pushed himself against the wall, struggled to sit up, goaded by Vader’s words, by his growing fury. “I’ll...die... first.”

There was a smile in Vader’s words, conviction and conceit. “That is not an option.”

Luke hung his head, fighting his fear, his weakness, using his grief and rage and spiking adrenalin to give him strength. He placed his palm against the wall and waited.

Vader turned from him and headed for the open door gesturing the guards towards Luke.

Through his fringe of dirty, bloodied, hair Luke watched a guard step toward him with a loaded hypospray.

He waited until the guard was one step away. Then he cried out, using all of his remaining strength to push against the wall and threw himself to his feet, catching the guard off balance. He snatched the hypospray and lunged unsteadily for Vader’s back.

It was a small weapon, it was insignificant, but it was all he had to make his point.

The Dark Lord whirled around and caught Luke’s wrist, twisting it, forcing the syringe from his hand and Luke experienced a flash of horror, a terrifying thought that Vader would snap this wrist and remove this hand as he had done with his prosthetic.

Instead, Vader released him and in the same instance backhanded him across the face. Luke was thrown backward, landing hard, sprawled on his back, the breath knocked from him.

Luke gasped, lurching in a pant of air. He was given no time to draw another. A guard kicked him viciously in the ribs. He grunted, curling onto his side to protect his still-healing body as the other guard drew his baton…

This was the price he would have to pay for his defiance. He had known it the moment he had decided to try.

Lost under a storm of blows he could do nothing to defend himself except tuck his injured arm close to his body and his left arm over his head and accept every strike, every punch and kick.

“Enough.”

Vader’s voice cut through his cries and the beating immediately stopped. Luke gasped trying to catch his breath, trying to fight his new injuries. He was given little time to recover. Gloved hands turned him onto his back, grabbed his arm and turned it to expose the dark line of veins just under the skin.

Luke knew he should try to pull away. He knew he should continue to fight. He knew he should try to summon the Force and push the man away… but the Force had been kept from him by a drug he didn’t understand. His strength was gone: stolen by the beating and the torture; from lying immobile, bound to a table; and by the grief and guilt of being presented with the evidence of his betrayal...

He didn’t fight as they pressed the hypospray to his skin and injected him with its contents.

He stared up at his father as coldness flashed through his bloodstream. “I... will always... fight you.”

“And you will always lose.”

Luke swallowed, felt the cell tilt, felt a rush as his senses imploded and he fell into peaceful, painless oblivion.

ooOOoo

He came to in darkness: a blackness so absolute that at first he thought he was still unconscious. He lay still, staring into nothing, drawing in one shallow breath after another until he realised that he could feel the stiffness in his body and limbs, he could hear his breathing, feel the pain as his rib cage rose and fell.

He swallowed: then smiled at the sensation of his throat working.

He was awake.

He blinked, opened his eyes wide, trying to clear his vision but everything remained dark. Without thinking he lifted his right arm and cried out at the pain that lanced through the limb. He arched against it, pulled his legs in as the agony of his injury forced the breath from him.

He gasped in air as the pain lessened, tapering down from unbearable to a dull, aching throb.

He was definitely awake.

Carefully, and with some effort and stiffness, he turned onto his back to stared through the darkness toward the ceiling above him, wondering if that was such a good idea given the bank of lights he knew were housed there. If they decided to turn them on he would be blinded.

He mentally shrugged, did it really matter anymore?

What did he need his sight for now anyway?

To watch Vader step down into the cell with his guards?

To watch the droid approach and hover over him?

To stare at walls that never changed.

He lifted his left arm, rubbed at his eyes, waved his hand in front of his face and could see nothing.

Did it really matter?

He might already be blinded.

The lights might be burning brightly and he just couldn’t see them anymore.

_“Your eyes can deceive you, don’t trust them.”_

Luke lay still, listening to the silence unsure if the voice he had heard was merely a memory or if he truly had heard Obi-Wan. His lips twitched in an almost smile; hope stirring for the first time since his capture.

“Be...n?”

His voice was a whisper, raspy and dry. It didn’t sound like him, it sounded foreign and strange and he wondered, briefly, if his vocal cords had been permanently damaged by the screams that Vader had wrung from him.

Did it matter?

“B...en?” He tried again, peering into the darkness.

_“Your eyes can deceive you, don’t trust them.”_

Was the voice in his head? Was he hearing it or wishing it?

“Ben?” He heard desperation replace hope as the Force lay silent, dormant and denied him.

_“Stretch out with your feelings.”_

He groped in his mind, sending his thoughts outward, reaching for the Force, grasping in the stillness for some sign, some hint that his senses, his powers, were returning.

But all was silent and quiet. The only senses he had were his body’s own.

He could hear his own laboured breathing, taste the bitterness of an unwashed mouth, smell the acrid stench of his unwashed body, see the darkness that surrounded him and feel the pattern of the floor grating beneath him pressing into his back.

There was nothing else, nothing that...

But there was something.

He grunted, bit back pain, as he slowly and carefully manoeuvred himself into a sitting position and leaned his back against the cool wall. He cocked his head and listened, laid his left palm against the floor.

Something had changed.

Something was missing.

 There was no low, almost inaudible, drone of a ship’s engines. There was no infinitesimal vibration, rippling through the walls and floor.

The gravity was dense, heavier than a vessel’s.

He was no longer on Vader’s ship.

He was on solid ground, a planet.

They had moved him while he had been sedated.

Anxiety roiled in his belly and he peered into the barrier of pure blackness trying to make out the walls and contours of his new prison, but without the Force he was truly blinded.

Luke rested his head against the unyielding wall behind him wondering how long he had been here, how long he had been in captivity, and how long it would be before Vader....

_... his father..._

... returned to torment him.

_“He died knowing you were with me.”_

His head dropped, shame rattling through him.

He had betrayed his master.

ooOOoo

Luke’s eyes snapped open.

There had been a sound, a light whisper of movement that had been enough to drive him from his light slumber.

He lay still, heart beating, watching the darkness, listening to the silence of his holding cell, waiting for the sound to repeat.

He licked his dry and cracked lips as the minutes ticked slowly past and the surge of adrenalin that had flooded his body slowly ebbed away as nothing happened.

The sound did not repeat.

The cell remained in darkness.

The door, wherever it was, stayed shut.

He dropped his left arm across his face, across his eyes, closing them off from the perpetual night.

He was beginning to imagine things now, was starting to lose it.

Which is what they wanted.

Beaten, broken and starved of food, water and contact with other beings he would soon crave company, would prefer the feel of his father’s fists, his father’s questioning, the blinding light to this dark silence, this solitude.

How long had it been?

It felt like weeks, but it could only have been a few days since he had been moved here. His thirst burned his mouth, his throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow. He knew what dehydration could do, knew what was ahead of him if they refused him water.

His head pounded, his limbs tingled with pins and needles, his injured arm throbbed, fatigue dragged at him and he could hear his own rapid breathing, his thudding heart as it worked harder against his decreasing blood volume.

Soon he may become delirious and confused.

The sound...

The whisper of sound could be the start of hallucinations.

He laughed, the sound desiccated, barely a cough. Hallucinations could make a welcome change to this silent, dark monotony.

They may break up his thoughts and banish his guilt as he slipped into unconsciousness.

He had once over heard his aunt Beru mention to Owen that dying of dehydration was supposed to be peaceful.

Peaceful would be good.

Eyes shut against the weight of his arm Luke began to drift, began to feel lightheaded as sleep lured him down into a different darkness.

He smiled, his lips cracking and bleeding...

...and was jerked awake again as something brushed softly against the bare skin of his chest.

He pulled back with a reflexive cry, jarring his right elbow on the floor and sending waves of agony undulating down the remnants of his forearm. He rolled on the grating beneath him, hit the wall and lay there panting with pain and frightened expectation.

Again, nothing.

Nothing but the blackness and the silence.

His hand was shaking as he rubbed it over his face. This had to be another method of breaking him down, of bringing him to the point of cracking until he was deemed ready for another round of interrogation.

He had to fight, he had to resist. He had to be stronger and not allow another lapse...

_“...Dagobah...”_

...that could result in another loss.

He hoped his Master had died quickly, like Ben, and had not lingered in pain in the mud and rain.

He...

A rustle of cloth, a footstep

Luke sat upright, ignoring the pain of his healing injuries. He sat with his back to the wall, eyes peering into the impenetrable darkness that cloaked him and fought the urge to draw his legs in, to cocoon himself against whatever may be in the cell along with him.

Once more he instinctively reached out with the Force and again he felt nothing, blocked from the power he had learned to use on impulse.

Anguish, frustration and fright tore a dry sob from him, his chest heaved, the heel of his remaining hand pressed against the centre of his forehead re-opening the healing cut and allowing thick dark blood to slowly well and slide down his face.

No....

He drew in a breath, tried to slow his hammering heart.

No, he would not do this. He would not allow them to get to him, to affect him so. He was stronger than this, he was...

_...alone in the dark..._

...a Commander in the Alliance, he was a Jedi Knight. He was...

_...lost..._

... resilient, he had been through a lot since leaving Tatooine and this was just one more thing. He would get through this, he...

“You poor boy.”

Luke started at the voice. Blinking, he realised there was a robed and hooded figure standing above him, silhouetted against a dim light filtering from an open doorway to his left. Luke squinted up at the figure, confusion rattling through him.

When had the door opened? When had the man stepped through?

Luke didn’t know what to do: didn’t know how to react. He sat on the floor, staring fuzzily at the figure, waiting for the man to move.

He didn’t need to wait long.

The hood turned to the open portal and the soft, dry voice whispered. “Raise the lights, not too bright, and bring water and sustenance for our young guest.”

“At once, Majesty,” a woman’s voice answered tightly, perfunctory.

_Majesty!_

Luke forced himself to look away as the lights within his holding cell activated for the first time. He closed his eyes as the illumination grew, closed his eyes against the stark and bare grey of his prison, against the very presence of the man in the cell with him.

The Emperor.

_“It is you and your abilities the Emperor wants,”_ Obi-Wan had warned him on Dagobah. _“That is why your friends are made to suffer.”_

There was a rustle of fabric by his side and Luke flinched as the robes brushed against his bare feet. There was more movement and he had the distinct impression that the Emperor of the known galaxy had just crouched to the floor in front of him.

Even without the Force he knew he was being scrutinised, weighed and judged. His heart drummed beneath his ribs, driven by anxiety and dehydration. He felt sick, light headed.

“Hmmm,” the Emperor commented, reminding Luke of Yoda, of the noise the little Jedi master made when he was displeased with his apprentice’s efforts. “You may open your eyes, boy.”

Luke tried to swallow, gagged dryly, kept his face turned from the man sitting on his heals near him and gradually opened his eyes. The light level was low, but still it burned his tearless eyes. He slowly blinked, eyelids scraping across the surface of his corneas.

A thin, pale hand reached out and touched his chin. Luke instinctively jerked his head away. There was a chuckle of amusement.

“You recoil from my touch, but not from your father’s fists.”

Luke had no answer for him, knew that even if he could think of the words that his voice would betray him.

Again the hand reached for him, again he pulled away, but the cold fingers closed around his chin and, with some pressure, pulled his head around until the dark cowl was in his eye line. The Emperor’s face was hidden, shielded from him by the hood.

Again there was humour as his chin was released. “So, Lord Vader has not yet beaten the rebellion from you.”

There was a scrape of boots at the doorway and Palpatine turned and took a carton of water and a small package from the small, slight woman behind him. Luke rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus on the figure, seeing dark clothes and red hair.

_Her!_

“You may leave,” the Emperor stated as the woman hesitated, her eyes flickering to Luke.

Luke thought he saw uncertainty in the green irises, he thought he saw doubt as she dragged her eyes away from him.

“I am perfectly safe here,” her master assured her.

Mara tipped her head in a bow and backed out of the room with her eyes to the floor, leaving the door open at the Emperor’s back.

Luke’s eyes glanced to the water, his dry tongue wiping across parched lips as he watched a bead of condensation run slowly down the outside of the carton. Palpatine cracked open the cap and held it out towards him.

“Take this,” he invited. “Drink.”

Body burning with need, Luke hesitated, wondering what he would have to sacrifice for the water. Wondering what Palpatine would ask of him, for surely it was not being freely given.

The robed figure leaned in, one thin hand curling around the back of his neck, titling his head, the other setting the bottle’s rim against his lips. Instinct screamed at him to drink, to open his mouth and allow the cool liquid to quench his thirst, but pride and fear held him back.

“Come, boy,” the voice whispered from the depths of the cowl, again it was laced with humour. “This is not the time for a battle of wills.”

His tone suggested that time may come.

Nevertheless Luke parted his lips and a trickle of water washed into his mouth. It was cool, soothing and the most delicious thing that he had ever tasted. He swallowed as Palpatine took the bottle away, lifted Luke’s hand and pressed the cool, wet surface of the bottle into his palm.

Luke tried to raise the container to his lips, but his hand shook violently, spilling the precious liquid over his bruised torso. Palpatine bent close once more and took Luke’s hand in his own guiding the bottle back to Luke’s mouth. He helped steady him, helped him drink in small sips, until the water was done.

The Emperor took the empty bottle from him and placed it on the floor before lifting the small package. He tore open the wrapping and slid out an emergency ration bar. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger he offered it to the boy who watched him with a mixture of hunger and suspicion.

“I am told that it has been some time since you last ate,” Palpatine said, hood tilting downward as he looked at the ration bar he was offering. “These would not be my first choice to break a fast, but the medics assure me that they contain all the nutrients your body needs without being too heavy for a stomach that has not held food for several days.”

Ration bars had never been Luke’s first choice of meal either, but the brown, pasty looking stick of food in the Emperor’s hand suddenly looked as appetizing as a barbequed bantha steak. He slowly drew in a breath, looked behind the Emperor at the open door and the shadows that moved in the corridor beyond, and he wondered briefly if she was still there, then he glanced at the ration bar once more.

Then it was in his hand and he was biting and chewing with a hunger he had never known before. Too soon it was gone, swallowed with barely a taste. He found himself staring, with a mixture of humiliation and driving hunger, at the packet lying on the floor next the crouching monarch.

Palpatine chuckled once more, picked up the packet and pulled himself to his feet. He took a step away from his sitting prisoner denying further sustenance. He was silent, looking down at the boy on the floor.

The seconds and minutes dragged.

Luke glanced away from the scrutiny, embarrassed by his weakness.

“Do you know why your father treats you thus?” Palpatine asked, breaking the cloying quiet.

The question was unexpected and it shook Luke more than he cared, he shut his eyes, memories of his interrogation under his father too strong, too violent, flooding his mind.

_“The Emperor has demanded that you be questioned.”_

“Y... you...” he rasped, surprised that he had found the strength to reply, dismayed that he had.

“Me?” Palpatine sounded surprised, a clawed hand touching the clasp of his robes. “You think I had something to do with your father’s actions?”

Luke swallowed, took a breath against the pains of his body, feeling his stomach clench against the food and water he had swallowed. “Y..you... or...dered... h...him.”

“Oh, my dear boy, you are mistaken,” there was pity in Palpatine’s voice, pity and compassion. It surprised Luke, it confused him. This was not what he had expected from his father’s master. “I merely requested that Lord Vader question you about your Jedi master. I did not request...” he gestured at Luke with a hand, gestured at his physical condition. “...this.”

Stepping closer Palpatine crouched once more, touching Luke’s bruised face with a pale, cold finger. The digits traced through the congealing blood from the open cut on his brow.  “I’m afraid your father’s choices of methods were not my doing.” He stood, turned away. “I ask again, child, do you know why your father treats you thus?”

Luke glanced away, unable to answer.

The silence dragged.

“Shall I tell you?”

Luke couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop his eyes being drawn up to the darkened cowl and the Emperor’s hidden face.

“You offend him,” he was told. “You, his own blood, are just another Rebel, another traitor to be beaten down and destroyed.”

“No...” The word was out before he could stop it.

“You think not?” There was still that tinge of humour, a softly mocking tone. “You were taken by the Jedi, stolen at birth and your father thought you dead. He did not raise you; he has had no investment in you. You are strangers to one another, there is no attachment.

“Here,” Palpatine gestured at the four stark walls that surrounded them. “You are a possession, nothing more.”

Luke swallowed, hearing truth but wanting to deny it.  “No...”

“Hmm, still ‘no,’” Palpatine fell quiet once more, giving Luke time to contemplate his words, then he turned away, took a step toward the door before stopping and turning to Luke once more. “You think that Lord Vader’s offer on Bespin was made out of devotion for you?”

Luke’s head jerked up in surprise, staring again at Palpatine’s hidden face.

“Oh... yes, he told me what he had proposed, explained that he hoped to appease you by offering you something that you have always longed for... your father.”

_“Come with me, and we can rule the galaxy as father and son.”_

Luke closed his eyes against the memories of Cloud City, of backing away from Vader as the Dark Lord spoke, entreating him with promises of power before delivering the awful truth.

“He does not care for you. He is not capable. He is driven purely by his desire to serve me, his passion for power and the Dark Side of the Force.”

Luke remained silent as the Emperor walked away, afraid to speak, not knowing what he could say anyway. He was a prisoner here, captive and powerless. There was nothing he could say, or do, which would make a difference or change his status.

Again Palpatine stopped, one foot on the step just inside the open door. “And yet,” he continued as though something had just occurred to him. “Lord Vader is a jealous man. He will not kill you; you are his son, his blood... his possession.

No, he will not kill you, he will not allow you to die, he will keep you...”

A pale hand waved to the four blank walls of the cell and Luke’s eyes followed the gesture as Palpatine finished his sentence and stepped through the door. The door slammed shut, the lights went out and Luke was left alone in the dark with the echo of the Emperor’s last word.

“...here.”

 

 


End file.
